


Canine

by Ruler_of_Nope_Island



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive, Gen, Hair Washing, Implied Violence, Lesbian Character, Masturbation, Mild Sexual Content, Name Calling, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruler_of_Nope_Island/pseuds/Ruler_of_Nope_Island
Summary: What happens when Daisy and Jonathan "swap" powers? Well, it gets pretty weird for the both of them. There's not really any really sexual interaction between either of the characters.





	Canine

Daisy opens the door to find Sims, eyes bright and sticky with hours-old blood. He’s gabbling, panting, grinning like a lunatic. She rolls her eyes, grabs him by the shoulder, and drags him inside.   
“I’m sorry,” Sims says, dripping gore onto her carpet, “I meant to ring the doorbell.”  
“There isn’t one.”  
“I’m sorry.” Some things are kept, apparently.  
“It’s fine.” It isn’t. She pauses. Might as well try this out. The cassette player is on the couch. And already recording, apparently.  
“How do you want to do this?”  
“I want a shower. And to masturbate.”  
Daisy stares at him.  
“You can wank in the shower.”  
“Thanks.”  
He leaves without a word. Jesus, Daisy thinks, am I like this? She tries to remember her first time which feels like a lifetime ago. That smell in her nostrils, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, running her hands over her body...maybe it’s just the first time. It’s a good job she grew out of that particular urge quickly otherwise she’d never have got anything done. 

A moan floats out from the bathroom. Jesus Christ. She walks over, shuts the door, and puts the kettle on. 

Thirty minutes later Sims’s tea is cold in his mug and the shower still hasn’t been turned on. Daisy strides over, bangs on the door.  
“Are you dead in there?”  
“No?”  
The door’s not even locked. Bracing herself for whatever she’s going to see - well, yes, Sims is naked on the floor of the shower, dirty clothes dumped in the sink.  
“Finished your wank, then?”  
“Yeah.” His voice is soft and breathy.  
“Are you actually going to wash?”  
“Sure. I’m just. Thinking? It felt so good.”  
“Yeah. It does.”  
There’s this weird sense of impatience and frustration, like she’s right on the edge and waiting for her partner to start catching up. The blood’s dried in his hair, which is going to be hard to clean. Christ.  
“Stand up.”  
She uses her “talking to junior constables” voice and it seems to work, since he does. Then she switches the shower on. It takes him by surprise - he jolts forward and stares at her, offended. At least he didn’t try to take a swing at her. When this whole mess had started, Elias had stated, very firmly, that _his_ archivist was to be returned in one piece and there would be consequences of he was harmed. But if he tried anything, Daisy wouldn’t have been able to hold herself back. And, technically speaking, she was _his_ archivist. From what the other anoraks had said, they should switch back once Daisy had taken his statement. But of course Sims was dragging this out, whether he meant to or not. 

Sims stares at her, water running down his body. He’s lanky and thin and fairly hairless. Daisy’s obviously not an expert on male bodies but he could do with some food and perhaps some rest. The blood on his skin is washing off fairly quickly but his hair - thick, curly and dark, which Basira used to sigh over - is still clumped together.   
Is she really going to have to do this? Fuck.  
“Sit down.”  
He sits down and stares at the rust-coloured water swirling down the drain, grinning to himself. Daisy thinks of the police dogs she’s worked with. There’s that same sense of animal satisfaction with a job well done.   
“Good puppy,” she says, smirking. “Who’s a clever boy, then.”  
Sims looks up at her with a look in his eyes that says: _Me._

She’d gone past the point that blood in her hair was a regular occurrence but she still had supplies on hand, just in case. Baby shampoo, of all things. She squeezes some out onto her hand and starts to scrub it roughly into Sims’s scalp. He leans into it. If he had a tail he’d be wagging it. 

The blood comes away after a while and when he doesn’t smell like a butcher’s shop she lets him stand up. She tosses him a towel.   
“Do I have to dry you as well?” She’s irritated because she obviously doesn’t want to but she had to stay to ask the question because she wanted to know his answer.  
Despite being a detective for so many years she’s tuned out the “why” part of any investigation but now the _whys_ of everything are scratching at her mind.   
“Please?”  
“Fuck off. Chuck your clothes in the bag, put on your clean ones, and come into the lounge so I can take your statement and we can get this over with.”

There’s a bottle of whiskey in her bedroom which she retrieves. That fucking thing is still recording, although she wouldn’t think that it had the range to pick up the exchange in the bathroom. 

Sims finally appears, drying his hair with a towel and looking a lot calmer. 

“Ready to give your statement?”

The words are foreign and ugly on her tongue. She gives the date, makes up some bullshit title, and then says “Alice Tonner, acting head archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

She takes a swig straight from the bottle. 

“Can I have some?” A pause. “Please?”

Anything to get him talking. This is taking forever. And of course he splutters and chokes. Then he starts pacing. Daisy resists the urge to throttle him.

“Just...from the beginning, Sims.”  
“What? Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Daisy’s teeth will be dust by the end of this, “Just give your fucking statement.”

He’s obviously trying but the words don’t come. Daisy keeps swearing at him, which doesn’t seem to work either. He’s as frustrated by this is as she is, and keeps pacing and pacing and pacing. 

“Sit down.”

Sims can manage that, at least. Daisy looks at him, calculates, thinks back to the bathroom.

“You did quite well,” she offers up, even though from what she’s gleaned he handled it as poorly as anyone could. “For a first timer.”

“Did I?” He smiles, happy and...there it is. The happy smile of a dog who’s fetched a ball. Positive reinforcement. Not something she’s good at. Wouldn’t have minded being assigned to the canine unit. Dogs aren’t talkers and dogs are loyal. Section 31 pretty much ruined any chance of that. 

“Yeah. Come here.”

He eyes her warily.

“I’m not going to bite your head off. Just come and sit next to me.”

He sits next to her on the couch. Suddenly his hands clench in the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Easy, easy,” Daisy says, in a way she thinks might be soothing. He’s staring at her. Now there’s something feral in his eyes. A challenge. Of course she can’t hit him, or back down.   
“I said you did well, didn’t I? You did well.” A pause. “Good puppy.” This part said sarcastically, so he doesn’t get too weirded out in case it doesn’t work the way she thinks, but instead he relaxes.

“Now,” she says, using her speaking-to-police-dog voice, “Tell me about the good job you did.”

Sims starts telling her about the incredibly bad job he did. Section 31 will be chasing that one up for months, she thinks. Elias will probably smooth it all over eventually which is just as well. Perhaps she should bill him for the damage to her carpet. 

A pause brings her back; Sims has stopped talking.

“Did I do a good job?” 

“Yeah. A great job. Keep talking.”

He shifts uncomfortably. Daisy tries to remember how she was, not after her first Section 31, but her first...hunt. Yeah, there was this feeling of elation and then the need to be touched. Held. I am a good hunter, tell me that I have been a good hunter. 

Anything for the statement.

She pats her lap. Sims, without any hesitation, shifts to lay his head down on her thighs, and nuzzles into it with a happy little sigh. He then moans when she begins to scratch the back of his head. 

“Good boy,” she says. “Go on.”

He does. On and on. And Daisy keeps scratching his neck and head and rubbing his back and this is so fucking weird. Sims also has an erection you could pitch a tent over, which she tries to ignore. But every small thing, every nice thing, she does gets a more positive reaction. 

Then he’s finally done. Still hard though, and Daisy takes pity on him. 

“You can finish that off,” she gestures. Sims, not moving from her lap, starts undoing his pants. Jesus Christ, Daisy thinks. Then, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, praises him through that, as well. She runs her hands through his hair, strokes his face.

It doesn’t take him long. Small mercies. 

He falls asleep almost straight after, which is about on par with her experiences with all straight men, but doesn’t actually move away, so she has this dead weight on her legs. They’re starting to fall asleep. But there’s a nagging sense that she hasn’t finished yet.   
The need to add something, add her own thoughts -

“So. What we’ve learned, boys and girls, is that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, has some pretty weird kinks. And that swapping between...powers is probably a bad thing. And now I’m really fucking tired, so I’m going to bed.”

Sims protests when she moves. Looks up at her with a pleading expression. 

“I want you gone by the time I wake up,” Daisy is done, and for lack of a better word, dog-tired. And if she wakes up with Sims curled up at the bottom of her bed, well. She won’t keep her promise to Elias.


End file.
